


Where It Hurts

by phantisma



Series: Very Dark Wincest Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Mind Games, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-05
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:59:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months have passed since Sam's ordeal as the prisoner of Kendall Garrett.  While John Winchester hunts for the bastard, Dean tries to hold Sam together while Sam slowly sinks under the pressure</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was small, fragile in the dark.

 _Not now, Sammy._ Dean thought as he rounded the corner where he’d last seen his brother. The hunt was already not going well, and for Sam to have a relapse now…

“Dean?” A little more urgent, more pained. Dean cursed under his breath and stepped into the room, immediately understanding his brother’s distress. The room was pitch black, no windows letting in ambient lighting from the streets, no sounds. Dean swallowed and stepped into the room.

“I’m here, Sammy,” he said softly, listening now for Sam’s position. Carefully, he turned on his light and swept it across the floor in front of him. “We need to get out of here, okay? I need you to come to me.”

“Can’t.” Dean’s light finally found him, huddled on the floor near the wall. Dean made his way over to him and squatted in front of him, one hand on his knee.

“Sammy, it’s okay. It’s all okay. I’m right here.”

Sam’s hand came up, shaking, and landing on Dean’s. It was a start. The nightmares were going to be bad tonight, Dean knew from experience. Six months after the hospital had finally released Sam, he was much better, but he was skittish and gun shy, which was something Dean wasn’t accustomed to.

Physically he wasn’t nearly a hundred percent, and Dean probably shouldn’t have brought him on this hunt, but Sam had insisted. “Come on Sam, let’s call it a night.”

Dean brought the light up to his brother’s face, and Sam instantly looked away. “Okay.”

With a sigh, Dean switched his grip from Sam’s knee to his hand and stood, drawing Sam with him. “This ghost isn’t showing its face tonight anyway.”

Sam was quiet in the car, refusing to even look at Dean. It was the silence maybe that frustrated Dean the most. It was brooding and dark and it meant Sam was somewhere in his head that Dean knew wasn’t good for him. Worse, Dean didn’t know what to say or do to draw him out.

“You want to get some pizza?” He asked as they neared the motel they were staying at. “I could swing by—“

“Not hungry.” Sam said, glancing at Dean briefly before turning to look out the window again.

“You have to—“ Dean stopped himself as he saw Sam stiffen. Demands and commands had never been the best approach with his little brother, and since Garrett they were sure to bring one of two responses. “I’m sorry. I worry. You haven’t eaten all day.”

“Not hungry.” Sam said again. Dean nodded and drove the rest of the way in silence. Sam was slow getting out of the car and when Dean reached out to him at the door to their room, he pulled away.

“Will you take your pills at least?”

Sam looked like he wanted to argue but the look on Dean’s face stopped him and he nodded. “Good. I’ll get you a glass—“

“I’m not a child or an invalid, Dean. I can do it myself.” Sam said, his voice quiet, but hard. Dean closed his eyes and sighed.

When it was like this there wasn’t much Dean could do or say, just wait for the nightmares, the tears and the ultimate apology he insisted Sam need never offer. Dean kicked off his boots and jeans and stretched out on his bed, waiting for Sam to come back from the bathroom to turn off the lights. Sam hesitated between the beds, as if trying to decide which one to chose, then chose the empty one. Dean sighed again and turned off the light, knowing sleep wasn’t going to come easily.

 

 

Sam lay in the dark listening to his brother breathing. The light from the outside lamp lined the window and Sam had left the bathroom light on, though he’d closed the door. He felt weak and silly. His stomach churned as he remembered the dark that had swallowed him, the thoughts in his head, the voice that had slithered out of its hiding place to drop him to the floor.

He was less than worthless to his brother like this, and it frustrated him. He’d suggested that Dean move on without him a few weeks before, and Dean’s response had been intense. Sam sighed and rolled to his side, his back to Dean. His hand rested on his thigh, just above the mark that his captor had left on him. _”To remember me by”_ he had said. As if Sam would forget anytime soon.

He sighed again and tried to close his eyes. In the dark he could sometimes feel the hand, sliding over his skin, claiming him. No matter how he tried to go back to what passed for normal, everything had changed. Even his relationship with Dean was different. Not that that had ever really been normal.

Sam knew he was frustrating Dean, and the concern in his brother’s eyes whenever Sam sank into the darkness was touching, but it didn’t help. Dean wanted to be out hunting Garrett, but didn’t want to expose Sam to the danger that came with that. So they wandered, hunting minor hauntings and Sam sank slowly away from Dean and into the dark place that Garrett had created.

He sighed again and forced his eyes closed. He could feel the pills working their magic, pulling him toward sleep. Marshalling his breathing, Sam let go and surrendered to sleep.

 

_“Welcome home, Sam. I’ve waited for you.”_

_Rumbling laughter shook him. The voice filled his ears, his head. Hands in the dark held him, touching his naked body._

_“You didn’t think I would let you go that easily, did you?”_

_Hands gripped his chin, tilting his head to the side as if examining him. “Does your brother know what I did to you? Does he know that I know what a dirty boy you are?”_

_The hands traveled over his body now, knowingly cataloguing each mark they had made, each scar, until they came to the brand on his inner thigh. “Does he know that you belong to me, Sam?” Fingers traced the letters of the mark, gentle, almost loving. “Mine. Always.”_

Dean woke to the distressed whimpering that told him this was one of the nightmares that centered around the mental torment Garrett had forced on Sam, not the physical. When it was physical the whimpers were screams and the uneasy tossing was frantic thrashing. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, watching for a minute before he sighed and stood.

Sam was sweating, his face grimacing. Dean crawled onto the bed, laying himself out beside his brother, face to face. His hand started on Sam’s head. It was the one part of his body Garrett hadn’t abused, the one place Dean knew he could touch Sam and not have it feed the nightmare. His fingers stroked gently over Sam’s forehead, brushing the hair away and exposing the smooth skin. As he moved down to his cheek, Dean pressed his palm to it, his thumb moving to stroke over Sam’s lips. They were chapped and rough.

“Sammy.” He whispered it, almost not even making any sound. “I’m right here, Sammy.” Dean moved his face closer, letting his breath touch Sam’s face. “Right here. Come back to me.”

Sam whimpered and shifted closer to Dean, his hands moving to capture Dean’s hand. “Dean,” he breathed and Dean sighed.

“Yes, Sammy. Right here.”

Sam’s eyes didn’t open, but Dean got the impression he had shifted out of the nightmare. Sam’s hand gripped his. “Stay.”

“Not going anywhere, Sammy.” Dean pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead. Sam turned, pulling Dean’s arm over him and settling in to a deeper sleep with his back pressed to Dean’s chest. Dean closed his eyes and settled in for a long night.

 

Sam was gone from the bed when Dean woke. The sound of the shower told him where his brother had gone and Dean stretched. A glance at his watch told him that it was nearly 9:30. His cell phone buzzed, rattling on the nightstand before he reached for it. The caller ID indicated his father’s number. Dean flipped his phone open. “Dad?”

“Yeah. How’s Sam?”

Dean made a face. “The same. Nightmares. He’s not eating. We had a relapse last night on a hunt.”

“I told you he isn’t ready.”

“You know Sam. He insisted.”

“Where are you?”

“Somewhere in New Mexico.”

“Good. Don’t wander too far. I’ve got a lead.”

Dean sat up. “Garrett?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Texas. I’ll know more in a few days. I want you close if I catch up to him.”

“Just tell me where.” Dean could almost picture his father nodding on the other end. “I mean it Dad. I want a piece of this bastard.”

“I know.”

There was silence then before Dean heard his father draw a deep breath. “You look after him.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

As Dean hung up the phone, Sam emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, his wet hair a mess. “Who was that?”

“Dad.”

“Where is he?”

“Texas.” Sam looked at him for a moment, as if he was going to ask what their father was doing in Texas then he shook his head. He turned his back to Dean to rummage through his bag. Dean’s eyes moved over the skin Sam very seldom left bare anymore, picking out the scars that had come from before Garrett, and each of them left by Garrett’s hand. “Want to get some breakfast?”

Sam nodded and pulled a t-shirt on over his head. “I want to go to the hall of public records to get some more information on that house.” His voice was slightly muffled as he pulled the shirt down.

“Good idea.” Dean agreed. He was willing to follow Sam’s lead and ignore the set back the night before, especially knowing he could be getting his hands on Garrett soon. Maybe once they’d caught up with the bastard, Sam could start to put this behind him. Maybe he could find his way up out of the darkness then. Dean got up to pull on his jeans so they could head to the diner for breakfast, hoping this was a meal Sam would actually eat, and not spend an hour pushing the food around his plate while he brooded.

 

 

The hall of records yielded a possible location of the body of the man whose ghost was haunting the old boarding house, where local legend said that the woman who ran the place had poisoned those who came to stay. Dean tried to convince Sam to stay behind at the hotel, but his brother simply shook his head and loaded his shotgun with rock salt. As they approached the house, Sam put his hand on his brother’s knee.

“I need to say something.”

“Don’t apologize.” Dean said with a note of warning in his voice.

“No, not that.” He bowed his head, his long bangs falling into his eyes. Dean resisted the urge to brush them aside. “Not…like that anyway. I-I need you to know…” He paused and looked out the window before turning to Dean. His eyes were dark and filled with an all too familiar pain. “Last night, in the house…it was…when I walked into the room and the door shut…I…”

Sam closed his eyes. Dean didn’t move despite wanting to just pull his brother to him and hold him. “Sammy, you don’t have to—“

“Yes, Dean, I do. If I don’t…it’s just going to keep swallowing me and maybe the next time I won’t find my way back out.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. The idea that Sammy might sink so far away that he couldn’t come back was like a blow to his stomach. His hand fell on top of Sam’s and he waited for him to continue.

“It was like a vision, that…intense. Only…not about someone else. It was as if I was there all over again. I could feel…” Sam swallowed and looked away.

They’d never really talked about what had happened. Dean knew in the most clinical way what the fucking bastard had done, but that didn’t begin to touch the reality of it. Sam was so broken when he’d found him and all he could do was hold the pieces together. The fear and the rage had taken up all the space he had, and he couldn’t think beyond them to the details. The details hadn’t mattered while Sam was lying in his lap, quivering in fear and relief and pain, chanting his name as if it was all that held him to reality.

Sam’s hand turned, his fingers threading through Dean’s. “He told me you left me.” Sam finally said, his face turning back toward Dean’s. Unshed tears glistened in his eyes. “He told me that you and Dad had left town, that you were happy I was gone.”

“Sam—“

“No, let me finish.” His voice was firm and Dean had to bite his lip to keep from stopping him. “I—I didn’t believe him, Dean. A part of me never believed him. A part of me knew you’d find me.”

Dean waited in the silence for what Sam hadn’t said. It took his brother a long time and when he spoke, his voice had lost its firmness. It quavered. “There was a part of me that did though. A part of me that gave up.”

Sam’s face was streaked with tears now, something akin to shame blushing his face. He looked so young and vulnerable and Dean reached out with his free hand to wipe at the tears. “Sammy.” It wasn’t an acknowledgement of the pain, or a reproach against the fear. It was a caress, the inflection making Sam’s eyes close.

“I—I begged, Dean. He…I gave him what he wanted.”

Dean disentangled his hand from Sam’s and lifted it up to meet his other, holding Sam’s face in his hands. His kiss was soft, gentle. “It kept you alive, Sammy. It kept you alive until I could find you.” His voice was tender, more like Sam’s voice than his own. He kissed Sam again. “And I did. I came for you. I found you and I’ve got you.”

Sam opened his eyes and Dean could see they had cleared a little bit. There was more of his brother in them than he’d seen in a while. “Now, what’s say you and me go kill us a ghost?”

Sam smiled and nodded. “Okay.” He was a little shaky getting out of the car, but by the time Dean had popped the trunk, Sam was reaching in for his shotgun and a shovel. All business, he checked the load and hefted the shovel over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

 

 

“You drive.” Dean tossed Sam the keys and circled around the Impala to the passenger door.

Sam slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine, his hand automatically reaching for the radio volume to turn it down. He smiled sheepishly at Dean as he realized he’d already turned it down the night before and buckled his belt. “Where to?”

“East.” Dean said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Dad said he wanted us close. He’s in Texas, so we head toward him.”

“Did he say why?”

Dean frowned at his phone and tried to avoid the question.

“Dean?”

“Huh? Oh, no, not really. You know Dad.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Sam headed them out to the highway. “This should take us down to I-10. We can take that east.”

Dean nodded and flipped his phone closed. “That sounds good. Mind if I catch a nap?”

Sam shook his head and Dean smiled. “Wake me when it’s time to eat.”

Sam rolled his eyes and slapped at him playfully. “Sleep, doofus.”

 

 

Dean woke when the car jerked underneath him. He’d been vaguely aware of Sam’s phone ringing, then the car had flown sideways. He opened his eyes in time to see them very narrowly miss get plowed under a semi, as Sam stared blankly, his phone held to his ear. “Sammy, what the fuck?”

Dean wrenched the wheel to pull them back onto the road and into their own lane. Getting Sam’s foot off the gas wasn’t as easy and he had to resort to using one hand to steer, while his other pulled Sam’s foot from the gas and applied the break.

“Sam?” He threw the car in park and sat up, taking the phone from Sam’s stiff hand. There was laughter as Dean lifted it to his ear.

“Still coming to the rescue Dean?”

Garrett. Dean knew that as sure as he knew his own name. “You sick fuck—“

“Careful, Dean…How is my Sam?”

Dean’s eyes flicked over his brother. His throat constricted at the possessive. “I am so going to enjoy killing you Garrett.” Dean pressed the button to end the call, turning so that he could look at Sam. “Come on Sam. Look at me.”

Sam’s eyes stared straight ahead, his pupils blown, his face white. Dean’s fingers stroked over his face, while he whispered his brother’s name. “Sammy, it’s over. He’s gone.”

Sam turned a little at that, though his expression didn’t change. “Dean…”

“Yeah, Sammy, I’m here. I’m right here.”

He opened his car door and climbed out, kicking a tire in frustration before he moved to the driver’s side door. “Shit!” It took him some time to get Sam up and out of the car, but once he was moving, Sam was pliant enough and Dean was able to get him into the back seat where he curled into a fetal position. “Damn it Sammy.” Dean stalked around the car in frustration, then stopped cold. He reached into the seat where he’d dropped Sam’s phone.

The last call was still displayed, 915-721-4031. The area code was familiar, but it took him a minute to place it. When he did, he dropped the phone back on the seat and climbed in to the driver’s seat, his finger’s already dialing his father’s number on his own phone. “El Paso. The son of a bitch is in El Paso.” That’s all he said, hanging up and throwing the phone down beside Sam’s. He knew it could be a false lead, Garrett could have called from a cell phone from anywhere in the world, but somehow, Dean knew Garrett was taunting them. He wanted them to know where he was.

Now they did. And it didn’t matter what Garrett wanted. Dean was going to make him hurt.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam felt the car slowing, felt the warmth of his brother’s presence. For a moment he couldn’t place where he was. It wasn’t the passenger seat, where he belonged. 

Then it slammed into him. The voice. His phone had rung and he’d answered without looking at the caller ID. That voice had cut right into him and he’d frozen, sunk into the darkness. He could have killed them both. 

His head was pounding, like it did after a vision. Slowly he lifted his head. They were pulling into a gas station. By the look of it, it was late afternoon. “Where-are-we?” he slurred, rubbing at his head. 

Dean was out of the car and had the back door open in a heartbeat. “Jesus, Sammy you scared me.” His hands were frantic as they sought to make sure that Sam was okay. “How do you feel?”

“Headache.” He grimaced and swallowed. “Dry.”

Dean nodded as if that was enough. “Las Cruces.”

“Huh?’

“That’s where we are.”

Sam frowned. “How long?”

Dean looked away. “Almost 6 hours. I almost took you to a hospital.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking saying that!” Dean stood and stormed away, leaving Sam sitting. When he came back he thrust a soda and a bottle of aspirin into Sam’s hands. “We’re out of the pain pills. This will have to do.”

Sam nodded and fumbled with opening the bottle while Dean set about pumping gas. “I—I don’t know what happened exactly.” Sam said when he’d taken 4 of the aspirin and swallowed half the soda. “I know he called—“

Dean cursed repetitively and turned toward Sam. “I’m going to kill him Sam. I’m going to tear him to shreds and feed his remains to wild pigs. I’m going to fucking—“ Dean stopped as Sam’s face paled. Dean dropped to his knees in front of Sam and touched his thighs, careful to avoid the place where Garrett had branded him. Sam’s eyes dropped to Dean’s hands. “Hey, hey…I’m sorry Sammy. I’m sorry. He—damn he’s got a fucking lot of nerve.”

Sam wouldn’t meet his eyes, but he tried to smile, tried to pretend he was okay. “He still wants me.” Sam said quietly. “He still wants to have me.”

“But he can’t.” Dean’s fingers squeezed in just a little. “He can’t because you don’t belong to him, Sammy. You belong here, with me.”

Sam’s smile was tentative, he wanted to, but a part of him didn’t really believe his brother. “Thank you.”

“Why don’t you lay down? We’re meeting Dad in El Paso.”

Sam laid down easily enough, throwing and arm over his eyes to shield out the too bright sun. “Is he there?”

Dean didn't ask if he meant their father or Garrett. “Yeah, I think he is.”

Sam didn’t respond. His heart thundered in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was in anticipation of revenge or in abject terror.

 

There were things that were true, even if no one believed in them. Sam had learned that very early in life. A salt barrier would repel most spirits. Demons exist. Vampires and werewolves and witches and boogymen exist. 

He was learning that no matter what he wanted to believe, he wasn’t recovering from his ordeal so much as he was surviving in spite of it. He curled up on the back seat of the Impala, his legs bent up to his chest, his head buried beneath the crook of his arm. It had only taken two words to rock him back to the place where he had submitted, where he lost himself inside the demands of the voice in his head.

_”Hello Sam.”_

Nothing more. He felt tears building and blinked them away. He didn’t want to cry anymore. He wanted to forget. He wanted to make it go away…the look in Dean’s eyes, that mixture of panic and anger and desperation…the feeling in his stomach when Dean touched him in places those hands had touched him…the mark on his thigh that echoed the voice in his head.

_”Mine.”_

Sam bit back the whimper and turned away from Dean’s questioning look. He didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want that voice to bring back the blinding pain, the feeling of that cock invading him, violating him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to back Dean up on this. He knew that he would fold. He wanted to say so to Dean, but couldn’t find the words. It ached the way Dean looked at him anymore. 

_”Does Dean know that you came for me, Sam? Has he touched you since he found you? Has he fucked you? Did you tell him how I made you feel?”_

Sam choked back a cry and felt Dean’s hand on the arm covering his eyes. “Just drive Dean.” At least their father would be there. Together, he and Dean would be safe. They would manage even without Sam. They had before. 

They had when Sam left them. That was true no matter how much Dean denied it. Sam closed his eyes and listened to the road under them. The image of his father’s face before he left fills his mind. He had been a different man. Something between them had changed and Sam wasn’t sure he could place it. Dean hadn’t told him until after John was gone that he knew everything, that he had **seen** the video. Sam wasn’t sure he could face his father with that knowledge between them. 

It was easier with Dean…Dean knew, but he didn’t **know**. If Dean ever did, Sam didn’t think he would ever be able to look him in the eye again.

 

Dean pulled the Impala off the I-10 and into the parking lot of a motel that looked seedy enough to not really care about the credit card he used. “Sam, we’re here.”

Sam sat up in the back seat and looked around them. “Where?”

“El Paso. Motel.” He pointed across the street to a small Mexican food place. “Dinner.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost 6. Dad’s still a couple of hours or so out. I talked to him about twenty minutes ago.”

Sam nodded and clambered out of the back seat, all long limbs and lack of grace, grinning as he tripped over his own feet. Dean shook his head and headed in to the office to register.

Ten minutes later they were settled into their room and headed across the street for food. Sam stopped Dean at the door, pointing to the newspaper rack in front of the restaurant. “Dean.” 

His finger shook as it drew Dean’s eyes to the headline. “Mutilated Body Found in San Jacinto Plaza”

Dean looked around them, as if he felt like they were being watched. He slipped coins into the machine and grabbed a paper before holding the door open for Sam. Once they had ordered, Dean turned his eyes to the article, skipping over it to pick out the details. “Five foot ten, brown hair. Torture. Rape.” He exhaled explosively and put the paper down, looking to Sam.

Sam’s face had gone pale, his eyes showing he was pulling within again. Dean touched his hand, curling fingers around his. “Hey, Sam. Look at me.”

Sam’s eyes skipped to his, then away and Dean tugged on the hands. “I mean it. Look at me.” It took another two tries before Sam’s eyes met Dean’s and held. “He’s playing you. He did this knowing you would see it. He did this knowing it would get to you.”

“I know.” His voice was deep and husky and reminded Dean of how it had sounded when he had been in the hospital. “It’s working.”

Dean squeezed his hand. “Don’t…just…don’t let it, Sammy.”

Sam blinked and breathed slowly. Dean thought he saw something in his eyes that faded and was replaced by a false confidence. Dean could tell the difference, but nodded for Sam’s benefit. “That’s it. Stay with me.”

Sam nodded, his eyes dropping to their hands. “I—I never meant to leave, Dean.”

“What?”

“I—when I went to school…It wasn’t…I thought you would be better off without me…you and Dad.”

Dean sat back, like he’d been struck, though he was careful not to pull his hand away. Sam would take that as rejection right now. “What—I mean…why would you think that?”

Sam shrugged, already dismissing this admission that made Dean sick in his stomach. “I was never good enough. I got you hurt. I got Dad hurt. You were always pulling me out of trouble. Hell, you still are.”

Dean shook his head in a denial Sam couldn’t see because he was still staring at their hands. “Sammy…damn…why didn’t you ever say something?”

He looked up briefly, a smile that was anything but happy curling his lips. “Like what? I mean…its one of those things…it just is…”

“You’re forgetting a few things, Sammy.”

Dean moved his hand from Sam’s and put a finger under his chin, pulling his face up so that he was looking his brother in the eye. “For one, you’ve saved my life as many times as I’ve saved yours. Trust me. I kept score.” He paused to make sure that fact was sinking in, then continued. “For another, you’re my brother and I love you, and so help me you drive me fucking crazy, but its part of my job to keep you safe…and me hurt or Dad hurt is better than you dead any fucking day.”

Sam swallowed against his finger and tried to look away, but Dean applied a little pressure and pulled his attention back. “Got it?”

Sam exhaled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Sam sighed and sat back, his chin sliding off Dean’s finger. “Some things are true, whether we believe them or not.”

Dean clenched his jaw and rolled his neck. “Well, if we’re counting what is true here, Sammy, maybe its time to lay it all out on the table.”

Sam’s mouth quirked and he looked up at the waitress approaching with their drinks. She smiled almost apologetically and set the glasses down before withdrawing back toward the counter. “Like what?”

Dean sat forward, leaning toward Sam. “This thing between you and Dad…it isn’t what you think.”

Sam hadn’t been prepared for that. He swallowed. “He thinks I’m responsible for Mom’s death.”

Dean shook his head. “No. You remind him of her.” Dean toyed with his straw and shook his head. “That’s why he’s so hard on you. He’s afraid.”

“Of me?” Sam’s voice sounded so small. Dean looked up to see tears in his eyes.

“No Sam, no. That the thing that killed her was after you. That you’ll end up like her. That he’ll lose you just like he lost her.” Dean had tears in his eyes now, echoing the ones streaming down Sam’s face. 

“I always thought he hated me.” Sam choked out, one hand wiping at his cheeks.

Dean shook his head. “In a lot of ways, Sam, he loves you more than he has ever loved me.”

That was something Sam had never considered, Dean could see it in his eyes. He wiped at his cheeks self-consciously as the waitress put their food in front of them. They ate in silence for a while before Sam’s voice, timid and wavering pulled Dean’s attention back to him. “Dean….how long…I mean…it was forever and I…how long was I…gone?”

Dean nearly choked on his enchilada and shook his head. Sam had never asked. Dean had never offered. Dean shook his head and shoveled more food into his mouth. “Does it matter?” he asked around a mouthful of beans.

Sam didn’t answer at first, but eventually found his voice. “I—I want to know.”

 _Too damn long_ , Dean wanted to say. This conversation was going places he wasn’t ready for. “Six days, Sammy. Nearly six days.”

Sam didn’t say anything more. He locked his eyes on his plate and he ate in silence. Less than half way through his meal he stopped eating. “I’m tired.”

Dean nodded and set aside his plate. “Okay, we can go.” He signaled the waitress and asked for the check and two boxes and when he’d paid and gathered the food, he reached for Sam’s arm.

Sam came willingly, hunched over a little on himself and simply following as Dean lead him across the street and back to their room. 

Dean set the food on the table that looked like it wouldn’t hold more than a few pounds while Sam sank onto one of the beds. He wanted to ask if Sam was okay. More than that, he wanted to make him okay. 

Sam looked miserable sitting there, his hands still in his pockets. Dean pulled off his button-down and tossed it aside before kicking off his shoes. A quick check of his watch told him he still had at least an hour before his father showed up. 

Dean crossed the room, stopping in front of Sam. “I want to do something for you,” he said, his hand caressing Sam’s cheek. “Will you let me?”

There was a time Dean wouldn’t have asked. There was a time he wouldn’t have had to. But that was a time when what he was thinking wouldn’t have crossed his mind. This was new. This was different.

Sam looked up at him with wide eyes, his expression offering consent. Dean smiled, his finger brushing over Sam’s lips. They were dry and Dean tried to remind himself to pick him up some chapstick. “Good.” He leaned down and kissed him. This was relatively new too, though as Sam’s lips parted for his tongue and he sighed into Dean’s mouth, Dean couldn’t believe they hadn’t been doing this forever.

Dean moved his hands to Sam’s shoulders, pushing the jacket off and tossing it aside. He deepened his kiss, his tongue sliding easily over Sam’s lips to taste the taco he’d eaten and the raspberry tea…and that taste that was just Sam. 

Dean sank to one knee in front of his brother, his hands sliding over the skin of his arms, touching. Sam flinched as his hands caressed over scars, but Dean followed him, keeping his palm flat against Sam’s skin. “I’m right here.” Dean whispered, his hands sliding over t-shirt clad shoulders and up to Sam’s face. “I want you right here with me.”

Dean’s lips moved from Sam’s lips, over his jaw. He had a flash of an image of Sam’s neck, bruised and bleeding as his lips connected with the soft flesh beneath his jaw, and instead of banishing it, he used it as a map, gently kissing his way over skin Garrett had abused.

As he circled Sam’s neck with kisses, tiny caresses of his tongue between lips, Dean tugged at his t-shirt, slowly working it up and off of Sam, exposing more skin, detailing a new map of injury that Dean slowly made his way across. Sam whimpered as Dean’s lips moved over his chest, and Dean let one of his hands slip through Sam’s hair, holding that place of connection as an anchor.

“Sammy.” He murmured it against the skin of Sam’s chest, moving open mouthed over the long slash of a scar left by the riding crop. Sam moaned and Dean’s hand massaged against his scalp.

Dean’s mouth found Sam’s nipple and sucked it into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the raised hard nub until Sam groaned. Smiling, Dean moved south, his tongue sliding over skin and scar tissue as he covered Sam’s abdomen and moved to his side, lifting his arm as he rose from his knee and lifted his knee to the mattress, moving around to Sam’s back. 

His hands stroked over the marked skin, and he could feel Sam start to stiffen. He pressed kisses to Sam’s neck, but kept his hands moving. “Right here,” he whispered into Sam’s here. “I want you. All of you.”

His lips moved to Sam’s shoulder blades, where he had taken some of the worst of the beating. Sam was beginning to sweat and Dean could taste the salt as he kissed. His hands smoothed down Sam’s spine, then around his hips, pulling him closer, leaning him back against his chest as his hands slid over his stomach and down to the waist of his jeans. “Relax. Stay with me.” 

He watched Sam’s eyes flutter closed as he reached into his jeans, his hand circling over Sam’s cock as it grew. “That’s it…Sammy…God…” Sam licked his lips as Dean circled the head of his cock. “I want to taste you Sam.”

Dean moved, guiding Sam to lay back on the bed while he rose and tugged at his jeans, pausing long enough to pull his shoes off. He started his touching at Sam’s ankles, kissed his way up his long shins, over the small scabs that still marked his knees, up to his thighs. 

Sam whined, his hand moving to cover the brand on his right leg, but Dean didn’t let it stop him. He moved his attention to his left thigh, breathing hot air over the skin as he nudged Sam’s legs apart and moved in between them. His hand caressed Sam’s stomach as he moved in closer, licking slowly up his brother’s cock. Sam’s entire body shuddered and his moan was nearly Dean’s name as he arched up off the bed involuntarily. 

“So good Sammy.” Dean said, his left hand splayed over Sam’s navel while his right was caressing Sam’s balls. “You are so beautiful.” Dean’s breath caught in his throat as he heard himself, before he opened his mouth to swallow Sam down.

“Dean!” Sam’s hips flexed and pushed him up into Dean’s mouth. Dean groaned and worked his throat before sucking his way up to the tip. His tongue swirled over the head and down under it, before he swallowed again, all the way to the hilt. 

Sam’s body shivered and Dean could tell it wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge. He took a long, slow stroke and pulled off of him, watching Sam shudder almost uncontrollably. “I want to watch you come, Sammy….come for me…” 

Dean’s hand squeezed and stroked up and Sam was yelling, his come shooting up and onto his belly as Dean stroked him, holding him until the shuddering had passed, then climbing up on the bed to lay beside him, his head on Sam’s shoulder, watching as the emotional expense of the day pulled Sam toward sleep. “I love you Sammy.” Dean whispered, using Sam’s discarded t-shirt to clean the come off of him and drawing a blanket up to cover his naked body. 

For a long moment Dean watched Sam sleep, then he stretched and stood. His father would be arriving before long, and they had some recon to do. He didn’t want Sam involved, but he didn’t want to leave him alone either. So Dean did what he could while he waited, pulled out Sam’s laptop and got started looking for Garrett by the only option left to him. Sam sighed and rolled to his side, a habit from the days in the hospital and Dean slumped in the chair, watching him.

Some things were true, no matter what anyone believed. This thing between them might be fucked up, but it was real, and it was true. He knew that as sure as he knew he was never letting Sam out of his sight again.


	3. Chapter 3

John Winchester pulled into the motel and killed the lights and motor, but didn’t move to get out of the truck. For six months he’d given up the hunt for the demon that took his wife, concentrating instead on the sick fuck that had so damaged his youngest son. Now that he was close, he hesitated briefly. 

Garrett was no demon, no ghost. He was human, sick enough, but the urge to kill him sickened a part of him. He was a lot of things, but had never considered himself a murderer. He knew that if…when he caught up with Garrett that would change.

Slowly, John got out of the truck, pulling his duffle bag with him. He stared at the number 9 door where he knew his boys were and sighed. He hadn’t seen Sam since he was still covered in bruises. He hadn’t been able to look at him and not see the images from the video and the only thing he knew to do was to leave and hunt and find Garrett.

Shouldering his bag he moved to the door, knocking lightly. Dean opened the door and nodded, stepping aside to admit his father. John clapped a hand to his shoulder in greeting, his eyes sweeping the motel room. Sam was asleep, curled up on his side on one of the beds. John cringed as his eyes moved over his still form, suppressed the need to check and make sure he was still breathing.

Instead he turned to Dean, his eyes dark and dangerous, defensive. “What do you have?”

Dean sagged a little, and he gestured with his chin to the computer. “Not a lot. I ran a check on the phone number he called Sam from. It’s a house in the Northeast side of town. According to public records it’s owned by a Roberto Mendoza and it’s a rental property.”

“Any ties to Garrett?”

Dean shook his head. “None. The most current renter was a man named Justin Samuels. I think he’s the body they found downtown just before we hit town.” 

John pulled a chair closer to the computer. “Anything else?”

Dean switched screens. “I think he’s taunting us. I found business records in the name of Garrett Kendall.”

John looked at his son incredulously. “He can’t be that stupid.”

“I don’t think its stupid. I think he knows exactly what he’s doing.” Dean turned to face his father. “He knows a lot about us. From the little Sam has said, he used it to torment him. He knew who I was when I took the phone from Sam.”

“Dad?” Sam’s voice was filled with sleep as he half sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

John’s face softened and he smiled. “Hey Sam.”

“When did you get here?”

“Just.” John stood and crossed to the bed. “How are you doing?”

Sam nodded and shifted so he was on his back. “I’m…fine.”

John’s eyes tracked the bare skin exposed as the blankets shifted, marking the signs of his son’s torment. He tried to keep the memory out of his eyes, but he knew Sam saw it. The image of Sam being raped, his body bleeding and broken snapped into his mind and John had to close his eyes. He could almost feel Sam grow cold as he saw it in his face and John’s breath hitched. 

Falling to his knees beside the bed, John closed a hand over one of Sam’s pulling it to his chest and holding it until Sam looked up. John met his eyes fiercely, his free hand moving to brush the hair out of Sam’s eyes. “You need a haircut,” he said softly with a smile.

Sam smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know. Dean keeps saying the same thing.”

John nodded, glancing over his shoulder to where Dean was wisely staying out of the conversation. “I’ve missed you.” John said softly. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Sam shook his head. “No. I needed…time.”

“We’re going to get this guy Sam.”

Sam nodded, pulling his hand free. John let it go, though it hurt. “I’m going to grab a shower.” Sam said, pulling himself up and bringing the sheet with him.

When the bathroom door had shut, Dean crossed to his father’s side. “Don’t let that get to you Dad. Its not you, it’s the size of your hands.”

John looked down at his hands and up at his oldest son. “Mine are smaller and sometimes he still reacts that way. Yours are the same size as Garrett’s.”

John wiped his hands against his jeans, as if that thought offended him, that any part of him might resemble the man who had hurt Sam. “Where are these businesses?”

The tone in his voice had changed, and Dean switched from concerned brother to dutiful son accordingly, moving back to the computer. “Downtown. There’s an office building near the Grand hotel. He has an office there.”

Dean pulled up pictures of the building. “The first floor is all lobby, with a reception area here.” He swept his finger across the screen, then switched to a different picture. “There’s a coffee shop here, it’s got the most cover. And on this end there’s a newsstand. We should be able to set up a three way surveillance of the lobby to catch him.”

John glanced toward the bathroom even though the water was still running. “Is it wise taking Sam in there?”

Dean shook his head. “No. But do you want to leave him alone here? Either way it’s a trap.” He didn’t look at his father as he switched the screens back to the picture of the building. “I’d rather have him where I can see him.”

John nodded then turned to sit on the bed. He was tired. He hadn’t realized how much. “Tomorrow morning. We find him and track him to someplace more private.”

It was Dean’s turn to nod, closing the computer. “And then we kill him.”

“Painfully.” 

 

Sam sat uncomfortably at a table in the coffee shop, a newspaper in his lap and a cup of mocha in his hand. He could see Dean, leaning against the wall to his right, across the lobby, half hidden behind a newspaper and a plant. To his left, his father was better hidden, kneeling at the shoe shine stand, carefully polishing some businessman’s shoes.

Sam was nestled close to the counter, his back to the wall, with the entrance to the courtyard to his left, so that he could see most of the lobby, but he felt more exposed there, almost as if there was a beacon declaring his presence. He scrunched his shoulders and slouched a little lower in the uncomfortable iron chair.

They had risen in silence that morning, gathering belongings and loading up their vehicles, as though preparing to run. His father hadn’t looked at him, and Sam could feel the hurt hanging off of him, could see the reflected memory of what Garrett had left for him to find in his face. It was little wonder he couldn’t look Sam in the eye. 

Sam’s eyes slipped over the faces around them, men and women moving about their daily business, oblivious to the three men who watched and waited. He made eye contact with Dean, seeking reassurance. Dean’s smile was sly and it made Sam blush.

“Hello Sam.”

Sam’s face froze, his eyes locked on Dean’s. The voice was nearby, close, and somehow behind him. Sam’s breathing grew rapid and he tried to make the fear in his eyes reach Dean. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak a hand descended on his shoulder. “If you don’t want him to die, you won’t.”

Sam tried to turn, and fingers tightened on his shoulder. “Don’t turn around. Sit and be still.”

Garrett had to have come in from the courtyard behind the coffee shop, the only spot that Sam knew Dean couldn’t see from his position. He saw a question in Dean’s eyes and he exhaled slowly. He couldn’t panic. He swallowed. “What do you want?”

“The same thing I’ve always wanted, Sam. I want you.”

“I don’t…I don’t belong to you.”

The fingers tightened again, and pain lanced through the shoulder, memory of the popping as it dislocated filling him. “Mine, Sam. Mine forever.”

Sam dared a glance toward his father, but he was bent over a foot, finishing his shine with a flourish. His eyes stole back to Dean. “I will kill him, Sam. Before he could take a single step toward you.”

Sam took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Obviously you planned this little trap. What comes next?” His voice was harsh, anger creeping in from under his fear.

“Such insolence, Sam. I suggest you mind your tongue. You remember what punishment feels like.”

Sam paled a little but clenched his jaw as if he could bite off the terror bubbling inside of him. He could almost feel the lash, the bat, the riding crop. There were more, he’s sure, but they fade under the pain caused by those. He didn’t speak, only laid his hands in his lap as a sign of submission.

“That’s better. I’m going to give you a choice, Sam. In just a few minutes, I’m going to go. A few minutes later, a limo is going to pull up out front. You will go out and get into it. Inside will be a blindfold. You will put it on. You will willingly take the limo ride to where I will be waiting for you. You will willingly come to me, and kneel and offer yourself to me.”

“Where’s the choice?” Sam asked in a hushed breath, painfully aware that Dean was now staring at him. He wasn’t sure if his brother could see the hand on his shoulder, but he could see Sam was in distress. Any minute he was going to blow his cover and come over to Sam…and Sam had no doubt that Garrett would kill him.

“If you choose not to do as you are told, that limo will explode, with enough force to bring down this entire building, and maybe the two adjacent to it. Hundreds of people will die. The communications infrastructure in this town will go dark. Your brother will be on the front lines, dead in an instant.”

Sam swallowed. He dragged his eyes away from Dean’s. “That’s not much of a choice.”

The hand squeezed on his shoulder and then was gone. Sam waited a few seconds before turning around, not really expecting to find him there. His body was tight, his legs numb. He had to move. He had to find a way to move. His eyes moved up to Dean’s, and he nodded slowly. _Let him know you’re all right, Sam_ , he said to himself, even as he pulled a pen out of his back pocket. 

Folding his newspaper, Sam scribbled a note in its margins and casually, or what he hoped was casually, rose from the table, ambling toward the front doors to sweep the street for signs of the limo. He didn’t know how much time he had, and he knew he could never go to Dean with what he was thinking. Dean would forbid it.

His father though, he would understand. And, Sam got the impression that Garrett didn’t know the elder Winchester was there. Sam stepped up on the shoe shine stand, sitting down and putting his booted foot on the step. John didn’t miss a beat, making small talk as he set about working on the boot.

“He was here.” Sam said softly, his eyes tracking the room and looking for Dean. He had shifted his position so that he could see them. “He wants me to go to him, or he’ll bring down the building.”

John’s pause was miniscule, his eyes darting up to Sam’s. Sam swallowed his panic. “I wrote down everything he said. When the limo comes, I’m going. Be ready.” He didn’t need to add the rest, the pleading to follow. “He knows Dean. He’s threatened to kill him.” Sam put the newspaper on the seat next to him and pulled out a dollar from a pocket. As he rose, he put the money in his father’s hand, and John held to him for the briefest second, squeezing his hand before letting him go.

Sam was nearly back to the front doors of the building, the limo pulling up just as Garrett had said when he turned, looking for his brother. He wasn’t in his place, not the one he’d started in or the one he’d moved to. Sam turned around, looking desperately. He noticed his father was standing too, looking. The limo driver stepped out and opened the door.

Sam couldn’t move. He wanted to scream his brother’s name, wanted him to emerge from the bathroom door in the far corner or poke his head out from behind the potted palm. _I will kill him, Sam_

With a cry of emotion too deep to name, Sam pushed himself out the door and stumbled toward the limo, falling into its dark interior. The driver shut the door and Sam’s heart thumped against his chest. Dean couldn’t have just walked away. 

Garrett had known their father was there all along. Had known that Sam would go to him. Had known that making John choose between his sons was the only way he’d get Sam away from them. His stomach churned. He’d chosen, he’d walked into the trap with his eyes wide open. Garrett had taken Dean. Garrett had Dean. And now he had Sam too, as the limo pulled out and the doors locked. One last look out the window and Sam saw his father, moving fast. Whether he’d be fast enough or not…

 

Dean’s first indication that something was wrong was the feeling that he was floating….no, not floating…hanging. His arms were stretched above his head, bound tightly, almost cutting off the circulation. His head lolled forward on a neck that didn’t seem capable of supporting it. 

He clenched his jaw, and found a gag between his teeth. His eyes were covered.

Garrett.

Memory rushed back. Sam looking distressed, his eyes desperate, pleading. Sam breaking cover and crossing the lobby, obviously communicating with their father. Dean had moved to his secondary position, where he could see his father’s position more closely. The world had tipped out from under him, a hand over his mouth, and darkness.

Dean cussed into the gag and tested the limits of his bonds, not that he expected much. He remember what it had taken to get Sam free. Garrett knew what he was doing.

“I’m afraid these accommodations aren’t as…comfortable as the place in Palo Alto. Not that it matters for you.”

The voice was close by. Dean thrashed about, attempting to connect. Laughter filled the room and a hand grabbed Dean’s chin. “Stop. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

Dean yelled wordlessly in frustration and rage. “I told you to be nicer to me. Now you understand why.” The voice was near his ear. A hand was on his lower back. “You’ve seen what I do with those who aren’t my Sam. I shouldn’t need to remind you that you aren’t him.”

Dean stilled warily. The rage still pounded through him, but getting himself killed wasn’t going to help Sam. “This is your own fault, you know,” the voice said. “Your arrogance, your pride.” The hand slid up his back and Dean realized for the first time that he was naked, just like Sam. The implications had him pulling on the bindings that held his wrists again. “I knew you wouldn’t leave him at the motel alone. You’d want him where you could see him, where you could control him.”

The hand was on his shoulder now, joined by a second one, circling his neck. Thumbs pressed against his throat. “So arrogant, thought you could keep him from me, didn’t you? You and your daddy. But Sam is mine. Sam knows it now. He’s on his way here. He chose to get into the limo. He walked away from your father. He walked away from you, from the idea of you. He’s mine.”

Dean struggled against the pressure Garrett was applying to his throat, but he didn’t have any leverage and he could feel himself blacking out. In a final act of defiance, he kicked his leg out, connecting with something soft, but solid before the blackness took him under.

 

“Hello again Sam.”

Sam tore his head up from his hands. The small TV monitor in front of him flickered to life. “I can see that you haven’t followed your instructions. Perhaps I can give you some incentive. The shadowy image shifted, a bright light filled a room and the camera zoomed in on a figure hanging by its wrists. Sam could see bruises already forming on Dean’s throat.

“Now, your brother’s life is in your hands, Sam. Do as you are told. As long as you do, he lives.”

Sam’s fingers shook as he raised them to stroke the cold screen, touching Dean’s face. He chewed his lip. All his life Dean had done the impossible to keep him safe, to rescue him.

“Put the blindfold on Sam.”

Sam hesitated only a second, then lifted the black cloth on the seat beside him. His eyes never left Dean’s face as he raised the blindfold and placed it over his eyes, tying it once behind his head.

“When the car comes to a stop, you will be brought out of the car and put in a wheelchair. You are to do nothing. You are not to speak or touch anything. You will be brought to your new room. You will not get out of the chair. You will not move.”

Sam nodded, pressing his lips together and breathing heavily through his nose. “That’s my good boy, Sam. We will be together soon. Very soon.”

 

John sat in his truck and gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He’d made the truck in good time, could still see the limo, and as he climbed in, determined to follow, he’d found a creamy white envelope taped to his steering wheel.

_If you follow Sam, the limo will explode. If you hunt for the other son, I will kill him and leave his mutilated body in your motel bed. If you get out of the truck in the next hour, it will explode. You sit there and realize that you just sacrificed your two boys to the monster. Ask yourself what kind of father does that. If it helps, I will love Sam forever. You can take that with you. If Sam behaves, maybe I’ll give you the other one back. Then again, I’ve come to like the killing. Perhaps I’ll let Sam watch._

In the envelope with the letter were pictures, Sam has he’d been when Dean had found him; Dean, bound and gagged.

Twenty minutes had passed. He hadn’t moved. John didn’t know whether to trust the note or not, but he had learned enough about this bastard to know he liked causing pain and that this was his show, right from the beginning. He’d let his emotion walk them right into the trap. His desire to avenge Sam, to make it right had led his sons into Garrett’s sick, sadistic hands.

Fury burned through him as he twisted his hands around the steering wheel. He’d lost his only lead when the limo had disappeared from view. Sweat dripped off of him and he let his eyes drift to the newspaper Sam had left him. Sam’s sloppy notes filled the margin, his letters cramped with the fear and hurry. Sam had given himself up to save lives. He’d seen the horror in his eyes, he knew what awaited him, and yet he’d gotten up and walked out that door.

John’s stomach twisted as tears fell from his dark eyes. He had never seen that strength in Sam before. In some way, it offered him some hope.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam had done as he was told. He had been left to sit in the wheel chair for what felt like hours. The room around him was silent, but he got the impression it wasn’t big. It took all of his strength not to get up, not to remove the blindfold. He had no doubt Garrett was watching. Any failure to comply could get Dean killed.

It was a while before any other sensory data reached through to him…the dusty smell of the room…the dry touch of the air. Then a sound. Not quite a footstep.

He started when hands touched him, sliding over his shoulders. He fought to hold still as they moved to the buttons of his shirt, slowly and carefully unbuttoning it and pushing it off his shoulders. The hands moved almost lovingly over the marks on his chest, one finger trailing over the lines.

The quiet was disturbing. There was no music, no voice, just the silence and the hands. Then there was nothing. For a long moment he wondered if he was alone again, then the hands returned, removing his shoes, socks, sliding up his legs. The hand on his right thigh paused, hovering over the mark, pressing the denim into it. 

_Mine._

It wasn’t the voice, not really, just the echo of it in his head. Sam closed his eyes behind the blindfold and breathed through the rising fear. Then the hands were moving again, unbuttoning his jeans, caressing the skin. Effortlessly, they shifted Sam, pulling the pants and boxers off together, leaving Sam naked and alone. 

_Mine._

Sam shuddered, suddenly cold. The hands petted over his skin, almost as if praising him. He could feel the body heat as Garrett moved around behind him, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Tell me what you want, Sam.”

Sam swallowed and tried not to turn his head toward the voice, mostly succeeding. “I want to see my brother,” he said it without faltering, uncertain whether the admission would bring him punishment or what he wanted. 

There was soft laughter. “I’m sure you do.” The hands rested on his shoulders as the voice switched to his other ear. “Be a good boy and maybe I’ll let you. First though…first you need to be punished for disobeying me, and for your insolence.”

The chair jerked underneath him and away, spilling Sam to the floor. He didn’t move, laying where he fell, knowing Garrett would just position him as he wanted him anyway. The floor was dirty, gritty and he could feel granules of sand cut into him as he was moved, his limbs rearranged like a doll's until he was on all fours.

He remembered the pain, but it didn’t prepare him for the bite as the cane dug into the skin of his ass. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood, and dug his fingers into the floor. At ten the blows slowed, ranged upward, over his lower back, less bloody, more welts. He lost count after that, swam on the edge of darkness until he became aware that he was being put back in the chair.

“Not a sound now, Sam. I have to go check on my other guest, see if he’s ready for the next step in his education.”

 

Dean was aware he wasn’t alone. Fucking mind games. He’d rather Garrett just get on with it. He said as much, though most of it was lost to the gag currently cutting into his cheeks. 

“Now, now, watch that temper. It’s going to get you into trouble.”

A hand stoked across Dean’s back, over his ass. “I’ve just come from getting Sam settled into his room. He’s resting.”

Dean chewed on the gag, venting his frustration the only way he could. He had images in his head of his brother as he’d found him in California, bound, gagged, blindfolded…beaten, raped repeatedly, his body a mass of bloody welts, bruises and bite marks.

“I checked in on your father as well. He’s fine…sitting in his truck, waiting.” One hand stroked up between Dean’s cheeks and he jumped forward. “Tell me, do you fuck your father as well, or just your baby brother?”

Dean’s face burned and he twisted himself around, swinging his legs and head in an attempt to connect with Garrett, but he just chuckled, and Dean could feel him moving away. When Dean had settled again, Garrett returned, sweeping his hands over Dean’s chest and down, stopping just above his cock. “Did he tell you how he came for me? How he came all over the place while I fucked his ass?”

A hand grabbed his cock and squeezed. “If I fuck your ass, will you come for me?” 

The hand released him and Dean sagged against his bonds. The punch caught him by surprise, a fist slamming into his stomach, leaving him gasping for air as he heard the footsteps walk away.

 

_”You need to get control, Sam. Before you kill someone” The diminutive woman patted Sam’s head, somehow diminishing the pain that radiated from his most recent attempt to engage his gift actively. “Your thoughts are all over the place. You’ll never breakthrough that way. Close your eyes. Try again.”_

_“Yeah Kreskin, get it together.” Dean called over his shoulder._

_Sam sighed and tried to clear his mind as she had taught him, this strange little woman with powers that seemed so much stronger than his own, despite her reassurances that his would dwarf hers quickly, if he only learned to control them. He narrowed his thought down to one thing, the back pocket of Dean’s jeans._

_Dean jumped up like something had bit him, turning around to find Sam’s face filled with a triumphant grin, just before he toppled over, holding on to his head._

Sam cowered behind a façade of fear and submission, sitting dully where he’d been put, waiting for the next torment. The harder part was stilling the rest of his mind to match, to concentrate. Every few seconds he could see Dean’s face, hidden behind the blindfold and gag. Every time he’d banish it and start again.

His first thought was just to reach his brother, to touch his mind and know that he was okay. He was nearby, Sam was sure of it. If Dean was okay, Sam could function a little longer. All he had to do was find him in the black.

 

_Low rows of houses, dark and pitiful against the stinging haze of burning cardboard and wood down a dirt road that led over a hill and down, away from the city proper, away from the bright lights of tourist bars where pretty senoritas plied hapless Americans with liquor…a dirt road that ended in a dirty glen, to an old manor house that might have one time belonged to a wealthy, Mexican politician, but had long since been left to ruin._

_“Here.”_

Sam. John woke with a start, his head banging against the seat behind him. He looked around him. It was late afternoon, the sun was setting behind him and downtown El Paso was growing dark. He turned on the overhead light and picked up the newspaper Sam had left for him. 

There were the words Garrett had told him, scribbled and hurried, down the left margin. There was something missing though. Something else. As his eyes scanned the page he realized there were words underlined. 

_Border. Juarez. Dismal. Grey. House._

Damn that son of his. He could have said something. 

John set the newspaper down and started the engine, forgetting for a moment the bomb threat. He only remembered when he was pulling out into traffic and he held his breath for the moment. When the truck didn’t explode in the first few minutes, he decided the bomb had been a bluff. He wondered for a moment if the limo bomb had been a bluff too, then pushed his thoughts off that.

He had to get across the border.

 

Sam’s body was sore, his ass ached from the long fucking Garrett had subjected him too an hour or more before, but it had given him something. Contact. And with that contact, a picture of where they were. It was something. Small and largely useless, but something. Garrett was washing him, preparing him for something. Sam lay still and let him, responding to direct commands but otherwise unmoving.

“What a very good boy Sam.” Garrett crooned as his hand stroked down his back. “Maybe I’ll let you see your brother now. I owe him some punishment. He’s been very bad.”

 _I’ll bet he has_ Sam thought. “Please? May I?” was all he said though, and he could almost feel Garrett’s smile.

Garrett lifted him, setting him back in the chair. “There are conditions. You are not to speak. If you do, I will hurt him more. Do you understand?” 

Sam nodded. The chair moved. He couldn’t get a sense of the layout of the house as he was wheeled out into what felt like a hallway, then through one room and into another. Finally he was pulled to a stop and his brother’s presence filled his senses. Dean. The smell. The acid taste of his fury. He didn’t even need the blindfold removed to know exactly where Dean was.

“You have a visitor.” Sam could hear Garrett moving, then could feel Dean’s eyes. He had taken the blindfold off. Sam nodded slowly, for his brother, for assurance. Sam could hear Dean huffing in indignation. Then the slap of leather against his brother’s skin.

Concentrate. _Dean._

He reached out, but without skin contact all he could manage was a vague sensation, like a mental hand brushing Dean’s mind. Garrett was talking, and it took Sam a moment to refocus his thoughts to actually understand what was being said.

“Do you see now? How he is mine?” The hand was on his shoulder, squeezing, but the words were directed at Dean. “Shall I show you?”

The hand pulled Sam forward, moving him out of the chair, onto his knees. A sense of panic welled up inside him and he could feel an echo of it from Dean. He breathed carefully, an idea forming. He couldn’t quite put it to words.

“Open your mouth, Sam.” Sam did, knowing instinctively what was coming. Garrett hadn’t used him before that way, but the rules had apparently changed. His cock was semi-hard as it slid into his mouth, and he knew Garrett wanted him to prepare it, tease it to erection. “I want to fuck your brother for you.”

His hand was on Sam’s cheek, as Sam worked his tongue compliantly along Garrett’s cock. He could feel Dean staring into him, feel his anger, his revulsion. Sam blocked him out. He had to concentrate on Garrett. The contact was small, and he wasn’t sure it was enough, but he had to make it be. Letting his body do as he was told, Sam closed his mind to it and gathered himself. 

He needed to touch Dean. He needed for Garrett to think **he** wanted Sam to touch Dean. He reached out, whispering a suggestion, holding on to the tiniest shred of hope.

 

Dean’s eyes burned as he watched Sam…Sammy, on his knees, willingly opening his mouth…willingly moving his tongue over that bastard’s cock…the same cock that Dean knew had been inside Sam, had violated him…and he realized that very soon it would be doing the same to him. He thrashed around, seeking some purchase for his feet, some weakening of his bonds. 

His eyes never left Sam’s head though, watching him work that cock in and out of his mouth. Sam’s head twitched and Dean got the impression he was looking at him, despite the blindfold. _Dean_

He shook his head, wondering if he was already starting to hallucinate. Garrett stepped back from Sam, his cock glistening and erect. His eyes were slightly glazed as he turned to Dean. Sam sat still, on his knees, waiting. Garrett’s smile was sickening as he approached Dean. His hand slid over Dean’s face, a thumb brushing over his lip. “Come here, Sam.”

Sam stood slowly, his head down, his shaggy hair hiding his expression. He took two steps and was by Dean’s side, and Garrett raised his hand, pressing it to Dean’s chest. “I think maybe I’d rather watch my Sam fuck you.”

Dean twitched, his eyes on Sam’s face. Something in him had calmed as Sam touched him, but it roared back to life as he realized what Garrett had said. _Dean_

It was Sam’s voice, but his lips never moved. Dean looked down at Sam’s hand, then back up to his brother’s face. It was still passive, his lips slightly parted.

Suddenly Dean was stumbling forward, landing on the floor. Before he could move, Garrett’s boot was on the back of his neck. Sam was kneeling beside him, his hand stroking over his back. _Easy Dean. Let me._

Sam’s fingers moved toward Dean’s ass, gentle movements that moved closer and closer to their target. _Do you understand, Dean?_

Dean was aware that Garrett was talking to Sam, encouraging him. He felt the first finger and tried not to react, forced his body to relax just a little. _It’s me or him, Dean. I don’t want him doing this to you. I need you._

Sam was moving, parting his ass cheeks, pressing himself inward, stretching, pushing and Dean bit into the gag. Sam pulled out slowly and pressed inward again, and again, achieving full penetration on his third stroke. Dean felt the weight as Sam lay over him, his chest pressed to Dean’s back, his cock deep inside Dean’s ass, and suddenly he was aware of Sam all around him, inside him, body and mind.

_Sam?_

There was relief, flooding through him, despite the boot on his neck and the naked and vulnerable state of his body.

_Trust me, Dean. I need you. Can’t do it alone._

Do what, exactly? Garrett’s boot moved and Sam’s weight shifted, his body moving, pulling out of Dean before pushing back inside. “That’s it, Sam. Mine. Do you see how he gives himself to me?”

Sam’s rhythm stuttered, his body shuddering against Dean’s as added pressure pushed him harder and deeper and Dean was forced to groan against the gag. _Need you. Gonna hurt, but need you._.

Sam was pressed against him and Dean somehow knew that Garrett was fucking Sam’s ass just as Sam was fucking his. Dean swallowed and tried to concentrate on Sam. _Here, Sammy. Right here._

Sam’s hands held Dean’s shoulders and Dean got the impression that Sam was working some sort of magic as his mind cleared and it was as if they were in some non-descript motel room, sprawled on a bed. _Stay here…just you and me…alone…_

Dean was acutely aware of Sam’s cock moving against his deepest core, but everything else shimmered, real, but not. _Sam?_

Kisses on his skin, down his spine. _It’s going to hurt, Dean. I can’t help that. Stay here and trust me._

Dean arched back into Sam’s touch, nodding and fisting his hands in the sheets under him. _I trust you, Sammy._ Trust you with everything.

 

John raced down dark streets, moving on instinct, on a vague recollection of a dream he wasn’t sure was even real. For a long time, nothing looked familiar, then he turned a corner. 

The haze that settled over Juarez as night fell was thicker here, poorer houses, some little more than shacks of cardboard and scrap metal, with thick, odorous smoke curling up out of tiny holes in roofs to add to the pollution. _Here_.

John turned his truck, moving up over the hill, and down. The lights of Juarez and El Paso faded in his rearview mirror as he followed the pull. “I’m coming Sam. Hold on.”

 

Sam felt his brother relax under him with relief. The illusion was more than a protection for Dean. He felt the pull of Garrett’s hand in his hair, pulling him back, harder onto his cock, his teeth biting down on Sam’s shoulder. Forcibly, Sam put it from his mind and reached out for Dean. 

His emotions roiled, ranging from panic, fear to love to fury. It was the fury Sam wanted. He latched onto it, following it down to it’s purest form, the center of Dean’s anger. There was anger with their father, for his treatment of Sam over the years, somewhat dulled by an understanding of why. There was anger at Sam, images of Sam on his knees, blunted by the simple relief that Sam was still alive. Sam conjured an image of Garrett as he remembered him from school. Big, not quite as tall as Sam, but broader, stronger. He held it out for Dean’s subconscious to wrap around. 

There it was. Sam latched on to the fury bubbling through his brother and brought it into himself. His body responded, moving more quickly as the energy of the emotion fueled him and he pressed back into Garrett, connecting as much of himself with Garrett as he could, pouring Dean’s fury through his skin. 

Garrett came loudly, yelling as the pain of Sam’s assault slammed into him even as the pleasure of his release filled Sam’s ass. Sam pushed physically, pulling out of and off of Dean, pressing Garrett back, away.

Garrett’s head connected with the wall with a crack and his body went limp. Sam snatched his blindfold off and turned to Dean. Garrett wouldn’t be down long. Dean was still within the illusion, his body slack on the floor. Sam rolled him over, pulling the gag from his mouth before reaching back inside his brother.

_This is where it hurts_

Sam gathered his brother into the circle of his arms, sitting behind him and pulling him as close as he could get him without hurting him. His chest was against Dean’s back, his legs curled around his waist and tangled in Dean’s legs, his arms held his brother securely. Garrett was stirring. Sam guided Dean’s head onto his shoulder and closed his eyes, inserting himself back into Dean’s mind.

 

There was a click and Dean was suddenly aware that the motel room was gone. He was in the same dirty room. Sam was surrounding him, half protective, half demanding. His thoughts filled Dean’s mind. Dean’s thoughts were in Sam’s mind. Almost one person. Sam’s arms were around him, tight, almost painful.

Garrett was moving. His anger filled the room as he climbed to his feet and moved toward them. _There_ Sam’s non-words directed, pulling up an emotion Dean recognized as his own. Rage swept through him, multiplied as it swept through Sam, and suddenly Garrett was staggering backwards. 

Sam sagged behind him and Dean felt the pain radiating through Sam’s head. He moved his bound hands to touch Sam’s. _Sammy._

Sam nodded, gathered himself. His head moved forward to rest on Dean’s shoulder, pulling him still closer. _Need more_

Dean did everything he could to give himself over to his brother, unsure what exactly was happening, but trusting. The rage returned, but this time it was surrounded with something else. Dean had a split second to recognize the fear he had hidden in the bottom of his soul when Sam had first disappeared, that blinding, numbing fear that he had lost him. Then it was spiraling through them both, lashing out at the oncoming onslaught of Garrett’s approach. 

Garrett’s hands were on Dean’s throat, crushing inward. Sam’s growl of concentration grew louder as he _pushed_ against Garrett, mind against broad physical strength. Sam was weakening, Dean could feel it.

 _Love you Sammy._ No matter how this ended. Dean felt his body going limp in his brother’s arms and let go of it, pouring himself into Sam, into keeping Sam alive.

 

John killed the lights before he reached the broken down house, and loaded his gun with fresh rounds before he got out. The house was mostly dark. The back corner though had a small amount of light leaking out of shaded windows. His eyes scanned the grounds for guards or others. Garrett obviously had some help. Someone had driven the limo while he snatched Dean.

He moved carefully, only slightly surprised to find the door open. Garrett was nothing if not arrogant. He cocked his gun and raised it to eye level as he moved toward the back of the house.

_Here._

He felt it, a flutter in his stomach, his only warning before Sam’s voice filled his head. _Need_

John grabbed the nearest wall and held it as Sam pulled on him. He could suddenly see them, Dean pressed against Sam, Garrett squeezing the life from him. John stumbled forward, grimacing as Sam took from him forcefully. He gripped his gun and fought to keep moving, keep giving him what he needed, get to them both.

 

Sam felt his father’s presence like a beacon and latched on, barely articulate enough to warn him before he took what he needed. Strong and steady, not as bright and hot as Dean, but more…somehow more. Sam let it wash through him without analyzing, building, bolstering the last of what Dean had offered him, an emotion he hadn’t looked for, searing hotter than the rage or fear, burning as it echoed through him.

Sam opened his eyes, felt Dean’s open in response. One mind, one body. Sam’s hands were on Garrett’s wrists, holding, pulling those hands away from Dean’s throat, his throat. It all blurred together, the three of them spinning as the heat poured through them. Garrett was laughing, screaming, pulling away, but they held fast, Sam and Dean, SamDean, SamDeanJohn.

Sam was vaguely aware of the door opening, of John moving, stumbling into the room, but his attention was all for Garrett. For the first time Sam let his eyes meet those of his captor, dark with madness, with fury, and, Sam noticed, a little bit of fear. 

The room was filled with screaming and on some level, Sam recognized the strange, wordless voice as his own. He felt every wound, every touch, every fear, every moment of torment rise up within him, mingling with SamDeanJohn, filling the three of them, filling the room and with every last ounce of himself, Sam shoved it at Garrett.

He could taste blood in his mouth, feel it in his throat as he screamed and screamed and Garrett at last released them, his hands falling useless to his sides as he too screamed. Sam couldn’t see anymore, white light surrounded him and he let go of Dean, of his father, falling into the deep dark of unconsciousness, spent, his body falling limply to the ground.

 

John felt his way into the room nearly blind. He could see Garrett, but only because Sam saw Garrett. What he saw sickened him in ways he thought he had left behind years ago. His hands shook as he raised the gun again. Garrett’s skin broke open, blood dripped down his arms. 

Sam fell, the connection snapped and John had to grab the wall to keep from stumbling as the pull left him. Sam sprawled on the floor, naked and unconscious. John could still feel the pain rolling off of him from the exertion. 

Two more steps. Garrett was on the floor, his hand on Dean’s ankle. His face was nearly shredded; John could see bone under his left eye, his lips both split deep and wide.

John kicked him away from his son. The clothes Garrett wore were torn, blood stained. He whimpered…still alive. His cock stood out from the dark black of his pants, and it too was bloody, welted. John kicked it, watching Garrett moan with a sick pleasure he knew he would regret later.

Garrett’s eyes moved. John squatted down beside him, cocking his gun and setting it against Garrett’s gory temple. “Do you know what your mistake was?” He licked his lips. “He was mine first. My son. You could never change that.”

The gun rang out once, twice, three times.

John Winchester wasn’t a murder. But when he had to he could kill.


	5. Chapter 5

Warmth. Warm cotton on cool skin. Soft darkness that felt comfortable against his face. The touch of a body close beside him. Sam snuggled into the feeling, reaching instinctively for a body that wasn’t actually there.

Sam shifted, sure he had felt the touch of Dean’s skin on his. He opened one eye, wincing as the room around him spun and hitched before stabilizing. A sloped ceiling overhead lead his eyes down to a table between two windows. A lamp on the table was on, but covered by a dark cloth to dim the light. Shades were drawn.

Dean was nearby, asleep on the second twin bed, his back to Sam. Sam closed his eyes and could feel his brother’s skin on his back. His body hurt, in some ways it hurt more than anything he could remember. The pain radiated from his head and through his limbs. The warmth helped, the soft touch of blankets and pillows and goose down eased the pain.

He turned, onto his back, wincing as the welts of his last beating rubbed the sheets, but clinging to the more physical pain as a means of keeping himself grounded. The house around them was still, but they weren’t alone. His father was moving toward him. Another man was downstairs, in the kitchen. 

Everything about his father was different as he opened the door to the room. He was softer, he moved with a quiet grace Sam didn’t remember as he tried to keep from disturbing them. Sam reached out, a caress against John’s mind. The recoil was enough to pull him back inside himself and John smiled. 

He came to sit on the side of the bed, his big hands buried between his legs. “You had me pretty scared,” he said softly.

Sam nodded. “Me too.” His voice was deep, scratchy. “How long?”

“Three days. Dean woke up after two.”

“Where?”

“Kansas. With a friend.”

Sam stretched under the blankets and glanced aside at Dean. He could feel the affects of pain killers working through him. “What did you give him?”

John followed his gaze. “He was hurting pretty good. I gave him some Vicoden to dull the pain.”

“Got any more?”

John smiled, his hand rising as if to brush the hair out of Sam’s eyes before he pulled it back, his eyes darting away, but not before Sam felt the rush of fear. “Sure. I’ll get it.”

“Dad.” Sam caught his hand and pulled it to his face, pressing it to his cheek. He held it there, his eyes rising up to meet his father’s eyes. John’s eyes widened slightly, and Sam could sense the joy the simple touch brought him. Sam turned his face to feel the calloused hands on his skin. “I don’t want you to be afraid to touch me.”

John cleared his throat, accepting the invitation, his hand curling in Sam’s hair before sliding back to his cheek. “I don’t want you to be afraid to let me,” he whispered fiercely. Sam captured his other hand and pulled to his chest, over his heart.

John leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Sam’s forehead and Sam closed his eyes. The pain was less somehow with his father touching him. He breathed in the deep scent he remembered from his childhood…the smell of his father that always told him he was home. “Rest.” John said, rising. “I’ll bring you some pills. I imagine it will be a while before you’re up on your feet.”

As he left, Dean rolled over, his eyes sweeping over Sam, as if checking to make sure he was still real. “Hey.”

Sam pushed his head into his pillow and smiled at Dean. “Hey. You okay?”

Dean made a face and brought his hand up out of the blankets to run through his hair. “I’m sore, my ass hurts and I haven’t got a clue what really happened back there, but yeah, okay.”

Sam nodded, his eyes closing as he felt his awareness shifting yet again. Dean’s hand on his head, in his hair. One mind, one body. Sam grinned. His hand slipped under the blankets, down to his cock. He stroked it slowly, coaxing it to life.

“Hey!” He felt Dean start and pulled his hand away. “What was that?”

“A side affect.” Sam said.

“Why’d you stop?” 

Sam opened his eyes and looked at Dean. “Dad’s coming.”

The door opened and John re-entered the room, a bottle of water in one hand. He set the bottle and pills on the table between the bed. “Think you’re up to some food?”

“Starving.” Dean said and Sam’s stomach rumbled.

“Apparently I am too,” he said dryly. 

“Amos is cooking. I’ll bring up a tray when it’s ready.”

Dean waited until the door was closed before turning to Sam again, propping himself up so that he could see clearly. “Side affect?”

Sam smirked as he stroked himself again and Dean moaned. “Relax and enjoy it.”

“Last time you said that to me you were getting ready to fuck me.” Dean said flippantly, laying back, but Sam had stopped and was sitting up, despite the pain. His face had paled, his heart fluttered. Sam pushed himself to his feet and moved the two steps to Dean’s bed. 

_Dean._ Sam’s eyes were frantic, seeking out Dean’s even as his mind was busy sorting through images and feelings and Dean started when he realized he could _see_ what Sam was thinking. 

_I am sorry, Dean. I needed to be able to touch you to reach you…to…I needed your strength, I couldn’t do it alone._

It babbled into Dean’s mind almost incoherently, accompanied by distressed sounds that might have been words from Sam’s mouth and Dean sat up, gathering Sam into his arms, pressing his forehead to Sam’s.

_It’s okay, Sammy. It’s okay._

Sam shook as their skin connected and the memory lay open between them. Sam’s plan, the touch, the fight…Garrett. Dean shuddered at the sight of what Sam had done to him with no weapon but his mind and the strength he stole from Dean and their father.

_It’s over, Sammy…all over…and I’m still right here._

Slowly Sam sat up, breathing deeply to regain some composure. Dean kicked himself for his stupidity and Sam stroked a hand over his cheek. “Not your fault.” Sam whispered.

“This is going to get old fast.” Dean muttered, though he softened it with the brush of his lips against Sam’s. 

Dean’s hand rose to mimic Sam’s movements and his smile was wicked. “Though, I can see some clear advantages.

Sam smiled back, until it was lost in a yawn. Dean stifled his own yawn under his hand, not sure whether it was his own yawn, or just an echo of Sam’s. “Take your pills, Sammy. Your headache is killing me.”

Sam shuffled back to his bed and downed the pills before settling back into the soft cocoon. It was quiet as they lay there together, despite the separation. _I love you Dean._

“I love you too Sammy.”

 

John stood on the porch, looking out over the fields that surrounded the farm house. The sun had set, but was still painting the sky with fire. He allowed himself the luxury of relaxing, something he hadn’t had since Mary died. Not like this. Behind him, he could hear Sam and Dean bickering over the rules of some board game. 

Sam still wasn’t strong enough to move on, but Dean was recovering quickly. The bond between them was new and strange and he could tell it was different between Sam and Dean than it was between Sam and him, but he was okay with that. Being jealous of Dean was silly anyway.

John tuned out the sounds from the house and stepped down off the porch. Sam had sacrificed a lot that night. He had saved Dean. John could still see it when he closed his eyes. That moment when the three of them had been one whole, when Garrett’s mind was open under Sam’s attack. The way his skin had burst open, his body ripping itself to shreds. 

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

John closed his eyes and turned into the wind. 

“Time to move on?”

John turned to Sam’s voice, surprised. His face must have betrayed it and Sam smiled. “I’m figuring out how to…block it some. You guys deserve some privacy.” He ducked his head, that shy, familiar look as he scuffed his feet on the dirt.

John could see the changes though. Some of the innocence was gone from his face, the creases in his forehead were deeper. He hesitated unexpectedly sometimes. John turned back to the feeling of the wind on his face. “Maybe.” He said, then realized how far they’d just come from Sam’s question. “Moving on that is.”

“Duty calls.”

John nodded. 

“I wanted…I know there’s a lot I don’t need to say, since you saw so much.” Sam came closer, his eyes narrowing as he tracked something in the distance. “But I saw a lot too.” 

“Sam—“

“No, let me finish, Dad. This…Garrett…me…none of this is your fault.”

Their eyes met and everything that had passed between them flared in them. Sam had taken more from Dean, rendering him unconscious, and largely unaware of what Sam was doing. John on the other hand had seen it all, felt it all. Sam had seen his share of John and his actions as well. Maybe that accounted for the differences in them both. The pieces of each other they had taken away from the exchange.

“I feel like I could have done something differently.” John offered, his hands in his jacket pockets. 

Sam shrugged. “Maybe…but Garrett played us, right from the start. We can’t waste time on blame.”

They were quiet for a while. John’s hand lifted to Sam’s shoulder. “I like this feeling,” he said softly. 

Sam reached across the ever-present connection. _Me too._

John looked over his shoulder, feeling Dean’s questioning look. “He’s going to need you.”

Sam nodded. “You too.”

“I’ll be around.”

“I know.”

 

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was breathy, unsteady against Sam’s collarbone.

_Tell me_

“More.”

Sam’s hands played down Dean’s back. His fingers moved with a delicacy that drove Dean crazy. His breath was hot and moist against Dean’s neck. His lips never really touched, just glazed as Sam breathed.

The night air was warm, the grass deep enough to hide them from casual view. 

_Touch me, please_ Sam couldn’t keep the need from the thought and he arched his neck back as Dean’s lips connected with his throat. Dean’s hands sought out Sam’s ass, pressing forward until Sam was on his back.

“God, Sammy.” Dean’s tongue traced over his jaw, down to his throat. Sam’s cock was hard and pressed between them. Dean could feel his own cock as if it to was pressed between Sam’s belly and his own. His nipples hardened as he licked Sam’s. 

Dean pulled his hands over Sam’s skin, still warm from the run through the meadow earlier…or maybe from desire. He wrapped his hands around Sam’s hips and pushed his groin closer, rubbing their cocks together. _Want_

Dean shook his head, turning his attention back to Sam’s lips. Sensations moved through him, Sam’s desire, Sam’s need. His desire, his need. Echoing back and forth until Dean thought he could come without ever touching himself. _Please Dean…want you so much_

His skin burned with his own want for it, and he swallowed hard. His eyes sought out Sam’s, seeking confirmation. Sam nodded, his eyes rolling closed as he moved his hips against Dean, dropping the head of Dean’s cock right against his opening. 

Dean held himself still, debating, thinking…too soon, too much…Sam’s desire filled him as his hands grabbed Dean’s hips and pulled him closer. Dean’s cock moved, opening Sam. _Want_

Words failed him as Sam’s heat enveloped him and Sam flexed his hips, angling himself for Dean. “Fuck me, Dean.” His spoken voice was husky with lust and Dean melted against him, his movements slow, small. “Yes.”

He tilted his hips, pressing himself against Sam’s prostrate, and feeling the echo in his own. “Sammy.” 

Tiny strokes. Sam moaned and Dean felt it in his stomach. Dean opened his eyes as Sam’s back arched under him. “Here, Sammy…right here.” 

Dean groaned, his face flush as he felt the echo of his hands palming over Sam’s nipples. Sam whimpered as Dean moved a little more, still taking small strokes, pressing skin to skin. _Sammy_

Sam lifted his chin, inviting Dean’s mouth over his neck. Lips and tongue and teeth and Dean was close…so close. _Dean_. Hands grabbing, pulling, then Sam’s hand closed over his, guided it to his thigh, sliding it down, over that spot. _Yours. Always._

The skin was rough under his hand, warming under his touch and it was everything in a single moment. _Sam_

_Dean_

_Sam_

_Dean_

_SamDean_

_SamDeanSamDean_

Dean collapsed on top of Sam, tears streaming from his face as his cock exploded and his hand burned against the physical mark on his leg. “Shh. Dean. I’m right here.” Sam stroked a hand down his brother’s back as he cried against Sam’s shoulder. _Tell me where it hurts_

Dean leveraged himself up, meeting Sam’s eyes. He tried to smile, his whole body shaking. _Right here_ Dean pressed his lips to Sam’s and they melted into one, mind, body, pain, joy…a second orgasm…the night sky faded and nothing in the world existed but this… _SamDeanSamDean_

In the quiet that followed, laying entangled together, tears dried, Dean imagined that just maybe it didn’t hurt quite as much as it did before.


End file.
